The voice of the tour director droned on, as I glanced at the exhibits. While I usually found most museums interesting, this guide was terrible! His voice was ruining the whole experience for me. I had once thought it impossible to even come close to falling asleep standing up. This man had showed me up several times over now.
We stopped in front of a door. The guide’s voice changed. It was no longer boring and rehearsed.
“This is something of a ‘sneak peak’ at what this museum will have soon. Behind this door lies a storage room, containing items to be placed in the exhibits. I’ll let you in, and then show you something I find quite amazing.”
He unlocked the door, and I followed him in. My interest was piqued. Something that could bring about this big a change in that man’s voice was really worth looking at. It was slightly crowded, but I was up at the front with a good view.
The man pulled out a small, ornate box. He opened the lid, and a shiver ran through me. It felt as if some odd and cold current of air had entered the room. I tingled with excitement, and I had no idea why. The feeling was strange yet exhilarating.
I looked into the box to see a simple feather pen. The edges of the feather were red, and the top seemed to be shaped like a heart. I shivered again. This pen was not of the everyday type.
“This pen is one we found in England, and could be quite valuable. From evidence gathered at the site, it is thought to be the very pen Shakespeare used to write the famous and tragic love story of Romeo and Juliet.”
I frowned slightly. That didn’t really explain what I was feeling. Why would a pen, no matter who owned it, cause such a reaction before I even knew what it was? With a dreamlike quality, we shuffled out of the storage room. Last in line was me. I walked slowly, as if the air had become a sort of gooey liquid, and the class was moving out quickly. I was so far behind that the guide shut the door while I was still in the room. That kind of woke me up, and I raised my arm to bang on the door.
I heard a small sound from the far end of the room. I glanced back, and saw, as if falling, a cloud of sparkiling dust. It swirled in an unfelt wind, and then coalesced into the shape of a boy. I looked at him, with his small, mischievous eyes, his thin mouth in the shadow of a smile, and most of all, his very pointy ears, just behind the curly red hair. Then, I noticed something else. He was floating about a foot off the ground.
What on Earth? I wondered. The boy looked at me and spoke.
“So you can see me?” he asked.
“Well, why couldn’t I?” I asked in confusion.
“So they haven't gotten to you. Good. Then there's no problem.” he said.
I was utterly confused. The boy turned and went to the shelf, and grabbed the box containing the pen. Right then, the tour guide burst into the door.
“Puck!” he shouted.
For a second I wondered if he was swearing at me. The boy grinned and turned into dust again. The tour guide slumped down, and looked at me.
“What, do you think I’m crazy, talking to myself?” he said. It seemed he was attempting to portray himself as a dangerous crazy. The only danger he really seemed to pose was boring me to death on the rest of the tour.
“It looked like you were talking to that boy.” I said.
“Wait, you saw him?” the man asked.
“Yes, why wouldn’t I?” I asked him in return.
“How old are you, exactly?” he asked me.
I was getting annoyed with these questions. “I’m 16.” I said irritably.
He whistled with surprise. “And they haven’t found you yet.”
“Who?” I said, really annoyed at the lack of information I had.
“If you can, please come to this museum at five. I have a break then, and can talk to you.” he said without looking at me, as he left the room.
I made a fist, scowled at the floor, then ran out to catch up with my school group.
